I was driving in the back seat of a gray coupé
and there it was.
A white church with a white steeple
and a path to a white place.
The lattermost— a snowflake, before a cloud—
was a facade preceded by five red steps
and met by an equally red door.
I thought you should know
that place exists.

Artificial wind
heard overhead; turbulent,
roaring, and distant.

time slows
the end is nigh
make
it
last
forever

Four blocks of ice concealed in a cylindrical prison,
cubes-- they're so imperfectly not.
An eclectic mixture now gone,
empty drinks sweating circles on wood.
The owners in mismatched homes
of strangers well known.
Four blocks of ice saw it all,
saddened only when they lose the last drops they keep cold.

Does anyone else feel the moon follows just to mock
with that waxing crescent pearly white smile?
The necessary light of my nocturnal path;
regardless of which corner I turn she's comfortably watching.
If only she spoke of the sorrows she felt
so to stop her nightly lamentations.
She holds that smile as merely a facade
one we all know but brush off as odd.
Oh night denizen, your monthly repose
makes me wish I were a star whose light you sang woes.

You see me and I see you,
we want to believe our actions are true.
By true, our own, but neither is,
we're all an imitation of what we've seen.

As trivial as a yawn so contagious,
or a popped knuckle that makes your insides itch
with the desire to follow suit daunting,
until the release of air and distress.

And as complicated as genetic code-- offspring following--
so naturally unnoticed like metered swallowing;
but like the mother ducks, who allievate stresses
of waters strong, we learn to cope from elders.

Whether it be innate or not,
had we not aped we'd be naught.
Forever we will remain children
who want another's toy 'til it's dropped.

They say littering is bad but there's one kind I admire,
and that's a cigarette on asphalt laying by a tire. 
Thrown and forgotten after one last goodbye kiss--
the fallen, I watch, sends smoke signal farewells and a contemptuous hiss. 
Lamenting to the air, whose particles spread his lore,
hoping to warn the next who lives the life he had before.